


Threads

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25860091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: A practical joke leaves Charles searching for pants and allows BJ to play cupid.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Threads

Second class mail was once again arriving at the 4077th, so Winchester’s selfishness during the paper crisis was mostly forgotten (even if it had gone a long way toward solidifying his reputation as a man who cared, first and foremost, about himself). Personnel had begun to unbend and unthaw toward him again with, perhaps, an added edge of wariness. Kellye still treasured the memory of Winchester in that delicate robe; when she was feeling low it always gave her a laugh. Only one consequence remained; Winchester’s clothes remained MIA. The supply tent was a stopgap solution, but given his height, it was in short supply of vestments long enough to cover him. What paper lover was holding a grudge along with his socks? 

Himself a master of practical jokes, BJ was the one to set him on the right track. “You’re assuming someone’s upset with you, Charles, but maybe you're looking at this the wrong way.” 

None of his searches having yielded so much as a button, Winchester was willing to listen. “Yes?”

“You think someone wants to see you embarrassed but maybe someone just wants to, well,  _ see  _ you.”

“Hunnicutt, I have repeatedly warned you about the brain damaging repercussions of drinking that paint thinner you insist on calling gin. You really think that I have an admirer who  _ has stolen my clothes  _ for the express and absurd reason of seeing me naked?” 

Hunnicutt remained infuriatingly calm in the face of this tirade; he was almost, Charles noted uneasily, smug. 

“Oh, God! It’s Pierce, isn’t it? He’s gone mad and fallen for me.”

Hunnicutt laughed himself right out of his bunk. “No on both counts, Chaz. And if you deal me in on your next mail order shopping spree, I might even keep your little deduction to myself. I don’t think you could stand up to Pierce’s compulsive flirting.”

“Someone in this tent ought to be exempt.”

BJ sidestepped. “I don’t think your thief actually thinks you’ll become a practicing nudist. But I do think he thinks you’ll come looking.”  _ And Klinger’s schemer enough to trade you  _ **_back_ ** _ clothes in exchange for you taking them off.  _

“He? You have a candidate for this uncouth clothing caper?”

“Uh-huh. And so would you if you thought about it. Pierce isn’t the only merciless flirt around here.” 

He thought and thought and wondered how difficult it would prove to bribe someone at the 8063rd for uniforms. 

“You really can’t solve this riddle, Charles? Where’s that Harvard-trained reasoning?” 

“I was trained,  _ Doctor Funnybones,  _ as a diagnostician - not the Sherlock Holmes of the Swamp on the trail of the purloined pants!” 

BJ was practically holding back laughter. “Let me try to help. I think I can translate it into symptoms for you. Who goes white and red and shaky when talking to you? Who looks like they need to lay down when you say something kind? Who watches you with eyes the size of dinner plates? And if you can’t solve the  _ who  _ start with the what. What do those ‘symptoms’ sound like to you, Dr. Winchester?”

“Brain damage?”

“Close.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Would it really be that bad? I see all your mail, Charles. No one’s writing you sonnets from home.” 

“I do not require sonnets! I require stitches!”

“Good - I don’t think Klinger knows iambic pentameter, but he can sew beautifully. Go tell him you don’t want his heart on your sleeves.” 

Charles went - he needed pants - but he didn’t relish the walk. BJ wasn’t Pierce; he wasn’t  _ necessarily  _ having fun at his expense. He’d even set out a fairly well-reasoned argument. But  _ Klinger _ ? He had more in common with  _ Sophie _ ! Maybe even with the North Koreans! 

But if Klinger  _ did  _ have his clothes - what did that  _ mean _ ? Surely he wasn’t going to have to set him straight? 

He knocked at the door to his tent. Klinger answered right away and he didn’t seem any different from any other time Charles had seen him. Perhaps BJ was just funning him? 

_ I think I can translate it into symptoms,  _ BJ had said. Charles decided to play doctor, to see if he could elicit the reactions Hunnicutt claimed to have observed. Grasping the Corporal’s too-thin wrist, he pretended to examine a cut there. “You need to be more careful, Max.” 

It was such a small thing - the pressure of his long fingers, the shortened form of the man’s given name - but Klinger’s eyes did widen for him and he seemed to go up on his toes. 

But all he said was, “Sure thing, Major.”

This left Charles in the awkward position of coming hat in hand to ask for pants and he realized that he had no idea how to do so. Looking around the tent, he quickly discovered that  _ finding  _ his clothing (if it was there) would be nearly impossible. Bolts of fabric, patterns, and trailing scarves were  _ everywhere _ ; the colors practically hurt his eyes. 

“Was there something you needed, sir?” 

Those dark eyes looked innocent enough, but Charles had never been at the center of one of a Klinger caper (having no ability to grant a section 8) so, for all he knew, this was a typical look. He tried, once more, to get a read on this most curious of Corporals. “Is my company so distasteful that you wish me gone so quickly?” 

Klinger tilted his head; Charles had seen him make the gesture before, a way to try to understand. “You can stay as long as you’d like, Major.” He pulled out a chair and offered it, the gesture strangely graceful. 

A strange smirk rose to his mouth. Klinger couldn’t have countered him better if he’d known what he was doing; it was as he  _ did  _ know and was trying to frustrate his attempts to peer into the dark pool of his soul. Alright, a new approach then. He’d been learning to weather humility lately, anyway. He didn’t like it, but he could live with it. “It seems, Corporal, that I find myself in need of your expertise.” 

Like Father Mulcahy, Klinger loved to be needed. He sat up, listening, eager. “Major?” 

“It seems that thanks to my tentmates, I am somewhat sans pants.” 

Klinger chuckled. “You took that prank better than anybody else coulda. I never knew anybody who could be dignified without pants.”

It pleased him - this strange bit of praise, and he tried to match the happy lightness of Klinger’s tone. “It is not a kind of dignity I can keep up indefinitely, I fear.”

“And if you ask the army to send pants, you’re likely to get toothbrushes. Gotcha.” He stood and rummaged, first for a tape measure, then for fabric. “I don’t have army green, so you’ll be mismatched ‘til they do send them.”

“As long as I am not unclothed.” 

He thought something flashed in Klinger’s eyes at the notion - but maybe it was just amusement? He had to give the man credit. On his knees with pins sticking out of his mouth, he was very much the professional seamstress, hands unobtrusive as they trailed and marked and measured. He worked quietly- a rarity for Klinger - and he did good work; Charles could see that even in these initial stages. 

Klinger stopped once to look up at him. “You’re really tall,” he said quietly. 

Charles looked down into those dark eyes. “Can I help you up, Corporal?” 

“I wish you wouldn’t, Major.”

This was said more quietly still. 

“Maxwell?” 

Klinger was determinedly spearing a pincushion, keeping the floor clear of pins. He didn’t look up. 

“Darling?” 

Klinger trembled; Charles saw it. He saw everything then. BJ was right after all. 

A smile lit Charles’ face. Lately,  _ he  _ hadn’t been the one in charge of taking his pants off, but he thought he could manage it for Klinger. He allowed them to slide down, thinking this  _ would  _ get Klinger to look up. 

It did. 

“Are you quite sure you wish to remain there?” 

Klinger nodded. 

“Would you like to come up here and kiss me first?” 

Klinger stood and entered his arms. 

Across the camp, BJ Hunnicutt, whistling, pulled a pile of neatly folded pants out from beneath a pile of newspapers and placed them on Charles’ bunk. 

End! 

  
  



End file.
